


lavender irises trace a sunburnt road

by sunflower_8



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Anxiety, Complicated Relationships, F/F, Mental Breakdown, Trust Issues, Unresolved Emotional Tension, minor religious talk, not really - Freeform, this is a mess of a fic, vaguely a vent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25228165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: she convinces herself this is enough, because in the end, she could never make maki act any other way. still, still, she thinks of a time where maybe, maybe, maki could tell her stories as well. a time where they can confide in each other in hushed whispers, hold each other in their arms.maybe maki will open up once they get to the beach. maybe. maybe.(or, kaede wonders when her best friend and crush grew so far away.)
Relationships: Akamatsu Kaede/Harukawa Maki
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	lavender irises trace a sunburnt road

her best friend’s car is old.

she knows, because it creaks when they drive, and the leather is worn in the seats, and there’s already dirt smeared on the dashboard where she kicks her feet up, snuggling against a seatbelt that cuts into her skin hoping she can find some semblance of comfort, here. she knows, too, because the maroon paint is a bit chipped and the whirr of the car starting up sounds a bit choppy, and it shakes on the highways, and she points this out to her best friend in a lively, slightly anxious voice, but the other says nothing.

as a whole, maki tends to say nothing.

that’s how it is, but kaede has the aux and a  _ lot  _ of stories to tell her, so she keeps rambling even when the only sounds maki makes are small hums, almost grunts. just having her be listening ear while kaede spills the things she doesn’t tell other people means a lot. 

(or, so she tries to convince herself. she convinces herself this is enough, because in the end, she could never make maki act any other way. still,  _ still _ , she thinks of a time where maybe, maybe, maki could tell her stories as well. a time where they can confide in each other in hushed whispers, hold each other in their arms. 

maybe maki will open up once they get to the beach. maybe.  _ maybe. _ )

“dad’s birthday is coming up soon,” she says as she chooses another song off of her playlist. she would normally play classical music, but she wants to relax rather than fixate, and pop songs are a lot more fitting of the summertime vibe. “me and papa are gonna go to the bookstore later and look for something.”

maki switches lanes, her gaze not once leaving the road. “mm.” 

“he likes fiction,” kaede continues. “he’s gotten out of his philosophy-book phase, at least for a bit. papa said he wasn’t able to sleep so well after reading that kind of thing. he was overthinking the existence of god and whatever, or if anything actually ever  _ really  _ happened. it’s kinda crazy, hearing him talk about it, ‘n stuff.” she hesitates for a moment, looking at the sunset streets. will they even get there before dark? “i wonder if you believe in god,” she finally blurts out. “i wonder if i believe in god.”

maki doesn’t reply, so kaede lets out an almost imperceivable sigh and starts talking again, “y’know, i never took him for a guy that would like slice-of-life, which is weird to say about my dad, but-”

“i don’t believe in god.”

kaede stops, turns and looks at maki. her crimson eyes, reflecting the warmth of the evening sky, do not flicker over. “what? you asked.”

“yeah!” kaede says enthusiastically. “i just, um, didn’t expect you to reply.”

“mm.” so they’re back to this place, again.

kaede switches the song that’s playing, sings along to it with a sweet soprano voice, untrained and off-key but still  _ soft.  _ she wonders if maki’s voice would sound like that, or if it’d be more of a contralto. she would ask, but maki wouldn’t sing for her. 

(it makes her wonder, then, if they’re even really best friends. if you can call someone who will hardly sing for you, hardly talk to you, your friend. if that even makes sense.

because, here’s the idea: kaede is in love with maki, but the two of them are also best friends. that’s how it is. and kaede is fine to set her love and discontent aside, focus on building up a relationship that already exists, one that may be actively crumbling. and it’s scary, scary to think of something crumbling like that, but she can’t, can’t,  _ can’t  _ think of this as anything else. she’s an optimist, she is, but more than anything, she’s a realist. 

and in reality, maki is far away. maki is somewhere kaede can’t reach. and even if maki is in the car seat beside her, even if kaede adjusted her position to rest her head against her shoulder, golden strands tickling the peach of her pale skin, it would still just be one person. one living person, and one ghost. or maybe kaede is the ghost. she isn’t sure. 

she’s never liked ghost stories, but she’s always liked maki.

_ what then? _ )

she talks through her anxiety, chattering about other bullshit that hardly makes sense, sounds wrong to her ears, but unlike a piano she can’t tune it, she can’t figure out what interval is wrong, it’s just  _ noises  _ that are  _ buzzing  _ and  _ god, she’s so confused.  _ “summer is going to end soon. we should spend more time together, maybe, if you want.” kaede’s always honest about her feelings in an awkward way, and maki phrases her exact thoughts bluntly with no sugarcoating. how is it that they miscommunicate, then? how? “mm, i haven’t had a snow cone in a while. they’re kind of saccharine, but i like the raspberry flavors. you like blackberry, right?”

“i don’t like snow cones.”

“we can get something else, then!” kaede rushes to fill the gap that isn’t there, now overflowing in pale rose ink. “the cookie dough place, it’s open. it’s not really a summer dessert, but i think you might like the fudge, there.”  _ if they even have fudge.  _ kaede’s never been. “oh, and we can always, um, hang out and just drink soda! like we’re doing today! with the citrus sprite and the grape sparkling water. haha, i hate grape flavors. but i like you.”

“that’s reassuring,” maki replies dryly.

“yeah!”  _ do you like me,  _ she wants to ask, but she wouldn’t be content with any answer. she knows that, and yet her impulses crawl into her heart, open and bleeding vivid pink and nocturnes, maki’s eyes are like the nocturnes that rest in kaede’s heart, open and bleeding vivid pink, and it’s all so  _ dizzying  _ in a different way than when maki rests her hand on the small of her back, sometimes, when things used to be okay.

kaede’s not sure things ever were okay.

“i need to try more flavors of sparkling water,” kaede chirps, and it’s kind of a lie because she doesn’t actually have much interest in that. no more interest than anything else, anyway. but all the conversation she could have made,  _ should  _ have made, are gone. and now, she’s left with a scattered mess of strings, trying to cling onto them, knowing that some may just pull apart. “i don’t like grape, but i like watermelon! mm, i should have gotten watermelon, so we could have matched!”

“we don’t  _ need  _ to match.”

“but-” kaede argues, “that’s a best friend thing, right? matching?”

maki doesn’t reply.

she breaks. kaede can hardly see the road with her eyes so bleary, so written over with a thousand things. lavender irises trace a sunburnt road, and she knows that night will come soon, knows that they still have a while to go before they reach their location, but maki pulls onto a smaller road with a dead end, overlooking the ocean, and kaede can hardly hear herself as she pleads, “pull over.” maki looks at her once before doing so, parking on the side of the street and allowing kaede to yank open the car door, retching onto asphalt while maki just watches. her brown hair trickles to the ground like the tickling of ivories, a cacophony of resounding shouts, and kaede doesn’t know if she wants to brush it or tear it out more.

she digs her nails, bitten short for piano, into her scalp instead, looking at maki with an expression that is probably something close to confusion, and she chokes out, “what happened?”

red eyes scan over her, cold and unwelcome. “you asked me to pull over. you dry heaved. now we’re h-”

“before that,” kaede cuts off. “before all of this. what happened to  _ us _ , maki?”

maki doesn’t respond. her eyes, instead, flicker over to the old car, and kaede is hit with the crippling realization, summoning a sob from somewhere, that she doesn’t trust her. she doesn’t trust maki, doesn’t trust her not to hit the ignition and leave, doesn’t trust her not to run over, doesn’t trust her not to drive straight into the ocean and not stop. maki has always felt like a temporary thing, like a bruise against a peach, but kaede wants scars, instead, wants to trace scars with the scent of lemongrass heavy in their breath and watermelon sparkling water tucked beside their knees, she wants to live and breathe in a time where she can trust maki, where maki and her never fell apart,

and when all of that is stripped, kaede just wants  _ her.  _

she doesn’t know why she likes the dying-- maki steps towards her with steady legs-- or the decay of a girl made-- maki hesitates before kneeling in front of her-- of grey petals in a coast of blood-ridden skies-- maki tugs her to her chest, wrapping her in a hug-- and she doesn’t know why she likes the ending more than the-- maki gets pushed away, and their lips are brought together instead-- beginning, or the existing-- maki still tastes like maybe blackberries and espresso-- of love, of something and all she wants is-- and maybe even-- her.

they pull away, eventually, and the not-quite dichotomy of distrust and pity lay heavy on her shoulders, though she isn’t sure why she’s pitying instead of guilty, guilty for what she’s done, and maki is standing up again to help her into the car but kaede just  _ can’t move _ , because the last few moments of their lives have felt like a dream and it’s heavy, heavy, heavy. maki wipes spit off her chin like it’s the pieces of hellfire, licking at ankles, pulling them under, but maki doesn’t believe in god and kaede can’t, either, not in a scene like this.

when she steps back into the car, she doesn’t touch the aux. maki drives them home, because the beach has a gate kaede doesn’t want to climb. when she goes home, she wraps herself in blankets and looks at the polaroids of the two of them, together, and wonders what must have happened, to litter those images with captions of  _ untrustworthy traitors in the sunset. _

**Author's Note:**

> kaemaki week! today was day 5, trust/regret. i went with both.
> 
> so, i was intending to write three days of kaemaki week. day one (suit/dress), day four (pink/red), and day 5 (trust/regret). that. didn't happen. which is unfortunate, because kaemaki was actually one of my first danganronpa ships, and this week is run by my friend, but... i kind of just. lost inspiration?
> 
> (which is extremely obnoxious, because i have a lot of inspiration for other ships and wips rn, but... not kaemaki? like, why do you gotta do my girls like that. anyway.)
> 
> this fic was actually going to be a bit longer, but it kind of wasn't. obviously. i still like where it went, though. heartbreaking enough, i guess. i tried to give it a really distinct atmosphere, not sure if it conveys. i should do more, like, atmospheric studies. hm. i'll work my way around to it.
> 
> anyway! thank you for reading! until next time.


End file.
